My aunt, who is a judge, insisted that I sign a prenuptial agreement before getting married. At the time, I didn’t understand why. But I did as she said.

She leaned closer and said, “Give me 200,000 dollars so I can buy my son a car.”

I felt the air leave my chest.

“I’m sorry?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Ryan needs it. And you can afford it.”

In that instant, she no longer felt like family. She felt like a warning.

I told her I wouldn’t give her the money. She seemed annoyed, as if I were being unreasonable.

“Don’t be dramatic, Emily. Once you’re married, what’s yours is his.”

“Not according to our agreement,” I replied.

That was when everything changed.

Her expression hardened.

“So it’s true. My son said your aunt was putting ideas in your head.”

That sentence hit me hard. My son said. So Ryan had talked to her about it.

I stood up, paid, and left. Behind me, she said, “Let’s see how long a marriage lasts without generosity.”

That night, I waited for Ryan.

When he arrived, I repeated everything. He didn’t seem surprised. That hurt more than anything.

“My mom is just like that,” he said. “She speaks without thinking sometimes.”

“Without thinking? She asked me for 200,000 dollars.”

“She’s asking, not forcing.”

“Did you know?”

He hesitated. Too long.

“I knew she wanted to talk to you about the car.”

“And that seemed normal to you?”

He looked annoyed.